


About that time Warlock decided to summon a demon to impress his friends

by yellow_owl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22014085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_owl/pseuds/yellow_owl
Summary: Warlock is 14 and trying to fit in a new school when a chance to impress his classmates with his occult knowledge presents itself...
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	About that time Warlock decided to summon a demon to impress his friends

This whole new school malarkey was not going well. Well, Warlock mused, it was going about as well as it could be expected to for someone who had been previously home-schooled in a different country and now thrown into ‘an excellent school in a good neighbourhood' in his parents' home country. (Warlock was adamant it was not his home country, and he was going back to London as soon as he would be able to legally do so.) That is to say, it was not outright nasty but there was that lingering feeling of others not liking him, not really counting him as one of the group.

While Warlock was 14 now, he kept contact with his nanny. It was odd, really, and his parents did not quite understand this ongoing letter exchange, but over the years they just came to ignore it. What used to be crayon drawings with a few misspelled words, became letters of varying length on Warlock's part and short note-like replies from Ms Ashtoreth, sometimes with a mysterious addition from Brother Francis (apparently, him and Nanny saw each other sometimes). Brief as she was, she always, always replied. Warlock looked at the latest letter with the bright red stamp and the accompanying blue “by air mail" sticker, at nanny's quick handwriting and opened the envelope. Some time ago he briefly considered switching their communication to e-mail, but there was something special about getting the handwritten notes he could hold on to afterwards.

The note was a reply to one of Warlock's longer letters, where he finally got the guts to describe the new school situation and ask for advice on how to handle it.

"The best way to earn respect is through something others might value or be curious about, which you do well. Think of what you are good at, and show them that.

More importantly, consider if they are even worth worrying about. Might be better off just doing what you are interested in and getting better at it.

Nose up, my wee hellspawn."

Warlock smiled. Nanny rarely called him 'hellspawn' these days, it was reserved for special occasions and somehow always felt like a hug when coming from her.

What was he good at? That was a tough question. Nanny has always said that asking questions is important, especially the trickier ones. The fact that his father disagreed with that view made it all the more credible. He opened his thinking notepad on a new page and started writing down everything that came to mind. He learned this technique from one of his teachers, it was called brainstorming. Warlock knew this was not quite what it meant, but he liked to imagine it was a way to calm a stormy brain, to splash all this storm out of his head and onto the paper, to stop the myriad of thoughts tormenting him from within.

His list included several entries, about some of which he felt more confident then the others:  
Chemistry  
Maths?  
Annoying people  
Mythology and superstitions  
Asking questions

He considered adding ‘understanding Scottish accent’ to the list, but thought better of it: no need to disclose a super power to the whole wide world, especially the one with such private origins. None of these seemed particularly useful in his current state, but perhaps he would just have to wait or think a bit more about it all. 

***  
Warlock knew an opportunity when he saw one: as he was hanging on the edge of the group, not quite excluded, but not really included into the conversation either, he heard the discussion veer off towards the questions of the occult.  
“Oh, stop being so naive, of course supernatural forces do not exist. It is all just stories and CGI!” – said one of the girls  
“I think they do, people wouldn't just make them up!” – opined another, hopping off the desk she was sitting on.  
“Well, of course they would and they did. Some of it is true enough though," – Warlock said in a quiet confident tone.  
Every head turned in his direction.  
“Oh yeah? And how would you know about any of that?”  
“I just had good teachers, is all"  
“Don't tell me you could summon a demon or something. Or is that part of the standard curriculum in London?"  
“Perhaps I could, what, are you keen to try it out? I thought you did not believe in all this ‘supersticious nonsense’” – Warlock knew he probably should not have said that, but the words left his mouth before he could stop himself. He was so done with all the mocking, all the thinly veiled insults, the endless sneers behind his back. Well, there was no way back now.

***  
Thaddeus and Harriet Dowling breathed a sigh of relief when their son told them he’ll have a couple of school friends for sleepover. He was finally, finally, integrating, or at least getting closer to becoming ‘a normal American teen' as Thaddeus put it to himself. Truth be told, he was not sure this was entirely possible, but it was a start.

Warlock took a week to prepare everything he needed for the summoning. He was not sure it would work, but he did give it all he could: he went through the books he remembered Nanny mentioning as “the more reliable sort" over the years, ordered tall thick candles, slept on the drawing chalk for five days (he was not sure this was strictly necessary, but he figured it would not hurt).

When his guests arrived, Warlock had everything set ready. He covered the summoning circle with a rug, left out some snacks and quietly hoped that this evening will go in the least destructive way possible. If it worked, a demon would appear in a circle, they would ask for something ridiculous, like balloons or some chocolates, the demon would ask for their souls, they would say no, and that would be it. If it didn't work he would say how this surely proves that people make up a lot of things, but does not disprove anything, and would just offer his guests to watch a movie or something. The second plan also involved not paying attention to all the mockery that would no doubt follow such a failed attempt.  
There were four of them: two boys and two girls, Warlock felt them taking his room in, looking for clues about the part of his life they could not see at school. 

Yesterday while tidying up his room for the occasion, he remembered Brother Francis’ strange advice in one of the letters. One did not have to share everything with everyone, it was ok to keep some things private, hidden away from prying eyes. “Give them more of what they know already. Not something that would look unnatural or out of place, only hide things that are truly private, but hide those well. Show them to those whose eyes they are meant for.” It almost felt like the lines were not quite addressed to Warlock, but at the end it did turn out useful. He locked away his favourite things, it was a small collection of odd objects which did not quite fit together, and letters – all the letters from Ms Ashtoreth, and an odd postcard from Brother Francis too. He hid the box in his mother's walk-in wardrobe, on the topmost shelf, somewhere no one would ever look. He replaced the objects with other ones: two more encyclopaedias, put a sci-fi book he was reading carelessly on his bedside table: let them see, let them confirm what they already know, they will not look further. He was as ready as he could be.

***  
“So, how are you going to do it?” – asked one of the guys the moment Warlock closed the door behind his parents (they were off to some event in town and were not expected till late after midnight).  
“I have prepared some things, so we can begin, if you all are ready"  
“ Don't we need to wait till midnight or something?”  
“Time is relative, it is always midnight somewhere" – Warlock replied mindlessly as he pulled the rug to reveal the pentogram (he remembered asking Nanny this exact question at the age of 5, and remembered the answer very clearly, it was one of the things that he felt really made sense). He put the candles at the allocated spots and lit them up.

Warlock took a deep breath, quietly scolding himself for the sweaty palms and the racing heart. He focused very hard wishing for a demon to appear: “would be really good if it were a friendly one", he told to himself quietly...

The candles flickered and a person appeared in the circle. He was wearing a dusty-green leather coat and something quite green and leathery on his head too. The strange thing was, he looked vaguely familiar.  
“YOU-U-U!?” – the person howled at Warlock  
“Um, h-hello?”  
“IT'S YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT! HOW DARE YOU?!”  
And then it clicked, Warlock knew exactly where he had seen this person, where he had smelled him before in fact: it was that unbearably hot day on the blasted trip to the blasted Planes of Megghido or some such that dad organised a couple of years ago. Oh, this was not very good, the guy clearly was not a forgiving type.  
“OH THAT IS IT, NOW I'VE GOT YOU AND YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS, NOW...”  
“Oi, Hastur! Fancy meeting you here!” – Warlock felt a displacement of air and... and Nanny's voice (he was pretty sure, it was her voice, although the accent seemed a bit off) came from behind him.  
“CRRROWLEY.”  
“Yeah, long time no see. Honestly, would prefer not to see you for longer, like for about eternity"  
“THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, YOU TRAITOR. GET OUT OF MY WAY"  
“Sorry, no, this, THIS is very much MY business, and if you try as much as look his way... Well, there is no telling what could happen, is there?”- Warlock felt something feathery shield him form both sides.

The silence lasted a few seconds and then with a whiff of foul smoke the figure in the circle was gone. Warlock stared at the empty spot trying to process it all. Then he slowly, slowly turned around...  
Nanny was standing behind him: dressed all in black, her glasses firmly in place, her... his!? flaming red hair in perfect waves.  
“Hi Warlock" – Nanny sighed   
“Nanny... ms Ashtoreth?!” – Warlock could not believe his eyes: it was Nanny, it really definitely was her, just not quite her  
“Yeah, I know, this is not exactly how I was planning to tell you, but whatever. Yes, that's me, I usually go by Crowley these days.”  
“But how...? You, you're in London! And also...”  
“I have been planning to tell you, some day. Yeah, ok, you were raised by a demon, but there was also an angel involved! Balanced out somehow, didn’t it?  
“An angel?! Was... was Brother Francis an angel?!”  
“He IS an angel, he was Brother Francis for a little while. His name's Aziraphale, if you must know. Oh and for somebody’s sake, just bloody call me before you decide to summon a demon!” – Nanny pushed a small piece of carton into Warlock's hand.  
“I... I’m sorry, I...” – Warlock tailed off not knowing what to say. He wanted to hug his Nanny, to talk, but everything was so strange, surreal, and his classmates were there, and...  
“Don't worry about them, I'll scramble their memories before waking them up, they won't remember anything, just that it all worked and was really mysterious”  
“Thanks, Nanny... Mr Crowley"  
“Nanny will do, Warlock"  
“I miss you, Nanny! I read all your letters , all your replies, I do!”  
“Me too, my wee Hellspawn, me too.” – and Nanny's arms wound themselves around Warlock.

***  
“And then this demon appeared, all in black and he hat those cat eyes! He looked at ME! And then he went away. But he WAS THERE!!” – one of the boys who visited Warlock that fateful evening was obviously retelling what he remembered from the evening to one of his buddies.  
“Snake eyes, they are snake eyes.” – Warlock thought. He smiled and said nothing at all.


End file.
